


White Rabbit

by Vhascometo



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Action, Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Clowns, Father and Son, Gen, Humor, I wrote most of this before dmc 5 because I just wanted Vergil back and for him and Nero to meet, Nero goes on a fun adventure, Panic Attacks, and go on adventures, background Kyrie/Nero, canon divergences, family bonding time, nero having identity crises, nero is very introspective, nero says fuck, slight silent hill nods, takes place after dmc4, vague horror elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vhascometo/pseuds/Vhascometo
Summary: Maybe taking on a mission alone and without backup was a mistake. Maybe Nero bit off a bit more than he can chew. Maybe the mysterious hooded demon stalking him is an ally.Or maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment to go in for the kill.Anyways, Nero’s not going down without a fight.OrWhat if Nero and Vergil met up and went on a fun Father and Son adventureTakes place after DMC 4. Mostly written before DMC 5.





	1. Alone in the town

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to make the wait for DMC 5 less painful then I never posted it. Enjoy!

The sun was shining brightly when Nero walked into town. It must have been around noon. He squinted against the light as he emerged from the forested footpath that had led him here. It’d been darker in there and his eyes had trouble adjusting. A middle-aged trucker had deposited him at the edge of town and he’d walked the rest of the way there.

She’d spent most of the time talking about her wife and showing him pictures. Nice lady, even though she kept asking him if he was “one of those instagram people who take pictures of abandoned buildings” and warning him to not get tetanus. “I know you young people feel like you’re immortal, but you ain’t. Tetanus’ a bitch.” He doubted he could actually get tetanus, but he assured her that he had his vaccines all the same. _What the hell is instagram and why would I be from it or there?_ He’d thought, but didn't ask.

She’d sent him on his way with two cliff bars, a juice box and a “Good luck with your pictures!”. He had packed a lunch but she insisted. And he didn’t correct her, because he couldn't exactly explain his actual purpose here. _Yeah I hunt demons.  I mean it’s an okay career choice. Doesn’t pay that much. Also I’m probably some kind of demon myself._ Yeah, no.

His eyes adjusted to the glaring sun. He was standing in an empty parking lot, cracked and overgrown. In front of him Shaded Grove sprawled, empty and silent. A few streets, small shops and houses in a state of disrepair, and in the background, a mountain, Shaded Peak, striped with pathways through the deep trees. And all around that, the slowly but surely encroaching forest taking back what humans had left behind.

Shaded Grove was a coal mining town, abandonned in the 70s when the coal mines - and therefore, the jobs, had dried up. It’d been gradual at first, then exponential, and the last stragglers had left 10 or so years after that, probably tired of living in a ghost town. Nero couldn’t blame them. He’d been so bored in Fortuna sometimes, he’d wished for a fuckton of demon to attack just to break the monotony. He guessed he got his wish on that front, but better not linger on that. The whole experience had left a painful, Credo-sized empty hole in Nero and Kyrie’s life, as well as some no doubt lasting emotional scars.

It was better not to think of that now. Better not to think of it ever at all, actually.

There were some positives, though, like finally moving away from that hellhole, and, he supposed, working with Dante. That certainly could not be called boring, and he even liked hanging out with Dante, not that he would ever tell him.

Dante wasn’t coming today, though. Dante was off on some big mission with Lady and Trish and when Nero had asked him if he could come - several times! He hadn’t beg, though. Too proud. But he had kinda wanted to - , Dante had just made some asshole joke like “but if we all die who will avenge us Nero?” and Nero had said something like “who the hell would lose time on avenging you?”. But the meaning was clear. They needed someone to hold down the fort or something.

So this job was all his. He supposed he should have been holding the fort, but Dante had said nothing about not taking any other missions while he was gone and besides, this was nothing. Barely a job, in truth. No one was actually paying him to do this. But, Sparda, he was so bored, and money wasn’t everything and he was doing it anyway, no matter how much Dante would get on his case about it later.

This was nothing, anyway. Just some rumors about ghosts or aliens or demons or whatever haunting an abandoned town, killing whoever disturbs its peaceful emptiness. Nero was just here to scout it out, but he expected to find nothing, and he’d told Kyrie as much, telling her to expect him in a few days at the most. If they killed whoever entered, how the fuck was there a rumor, anyway? It was an useless distraction, really. He should expect disappointment. He would find nothing but dilapidated houses and 30-year old expired food in abandoned pantries.

He couldn’t help but to hope that he would find something. So he wouldn’t feel like such a dumbass for coming here. He’d regretted so many times on the way there, but there was that whole sunk cost fallacy thing: he’d already invested time in this, he was like halfway there, he couldn’t just go home empty handed. And he had to find something to relieve the restlessness. When he was restless he thought too much. About things he was carefully avoiding thinking about.

 

Nero made his way into town under the glaring noonday sun, sipping on his juice box. He didn’t have a method, or an actual plan. He just figured he’d poke around a little bit until he found something interesting. He picked a street that seemed to be the main one and walked up it, not even bothering to take out his weapons for now. Red Queen was in the gym bag of supplies he’d brought, and Blue Rose in its holster. He figured if he got attacked he would use it first, then dig Red Queen out of there. Besides he had his Devil Bringer for any truly dangerous enemy, and if it came to that he could Trigger. That was, of course, assuming he actually encountered anything. An eventuality that seemed more and more doubtful as he made his way deeper in town.

It was disappointing, sure, but he found himself still having a good time despite it. There was no one to watch him here, and soon he found himself singing along to whichever songs popped up in his head. It was something he’d picked up from Kyrie. She was always singing, it was adorable. Of course his voice wasn’t as nice as hers, but, hell, he was alone here, completely alone. He even started pretending to play the instruments. Why not.

He figured that if there WAS an actual demon here, well, it was bound to find him, with all the noise he was making, saving him the trouble of digging for the bastard.

And if there wasn’t, well, he’d just have to make the most it. The weather was perfect for a nice hike, the day was young, he could do some exploring. Like he was one of those instagram people or whatever. It could be fun, even if he didn’t turn up anything surnatural.

It was strange, being here. Somewhere there SHOULD be people, but there wasn’t. A whole town just left sitting there, as if in waiting.

He checked the time on his phone’s cracked screen - it had lasted about 1 week without a crack - and two smiling faces greeted him: Kyrie’s and his. Trish had taken the picture, maybe a second too early, before they’d had time to plaster on exaggerated smiles. He liked it better like that.  Kyrie’s smile was tiny but soft, and he was looking slightly to the left, at her.

He had to remember to call her and check in, so she wouldn't worry he got eaten by the nonexistent demon.

20 minutes since he’d arrived into town proper . No demon, or ghost or alien for that matter. He did find a huge dead rat on the street, but that was nothing to write home about. You could probably find those in Dante’s shop too.

Curiosity got the best of him and he decided to check out one of the houses. He picked the most janky looking one, because it felt weird and intrusive to break in a house that looked as if it could have been occupied a few hours ago if not for the overgrown lawn.

The one he picked was painted a dark piss-yellow that must have been ugly even in its prime. Now the paint was peeling off in place and stained darker in others. “Hope that’s not mold!” announced Nero to no one in particular in a joyous tone as he climbed in through a broken ground floor window. Yes, he could have gone in through the front door but where was the excitement in that?

The house was a little one-floor bungalow, extremely normal in this part of the world, from what he’d seen, but it looked nothing like the houses in Fortuna, and to him, it seemed very exotic. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he landed on the living-room floor and he couldn’t contain an ecstatic smile. “Wow! This place is ugly!” he said happily.

The room was rectangle-shaped, much longer than it was large, with a long, gross-old flower-motif sofa pushed up against the wall. The dusty curtains hanging on the window he’d came in were a similar piss-yellow to the house’s, but with an extra brownish tint. There was wallpaper, that at one point had maybe been white but now looked beige-ish from age and from the dim lighting inside the house. Guessing the original colour of the carpet was a fool’s errand. It was now beige and yellow and brown in the spot under the broken window, probably from years of rainwater coming in. The whole thing smelled musty. “Not toxic mold I hope!”

Would toxic mold even harm him? Nero was quite unsure about the limit of his demonic blood. Where did the human side end, where did the demonic side start? He had no idea. He’d always been more resilient than most, rarely being sick, healing rather quickly every time he got injured as kid - that happened a lot. He’d always been reckless. But something had definitely changed in him since his arm’s awakening. He’d been stabbed through the chest, for Sparda’s sake, and there wasn’t even a faint scar there to tell him that hadn’t been a dream or an hallucination. (Except the ones he’d already had, from before.)

Dante didn’t seem to know much, which was no surprise. Nero got the feeling the man had learned about his own powers very much the same way he did - by trial and error.

The weird thing was the way he stammered and clammed up about it if Nero tried to push. It was unlike Dante to shut up about something. He always had opinions about things he knew nothing about. But not this. This, for some reason, was a touchy subject.

Nero had his suspicions, but he was loathe to voice them. It made him… uncomfortable. What if he put himself out there and he was wrong? What if-

Once he’d refused to let it go, though, questioning Dante until the man had told him, in a weary, but not unkind voice, to wait another time. “I just need to put my thoughts in order, and there’s some things I’m not sure about.” he’d said. It had taken Nero everything to not blurt out _Are you my fucking dad Dante? Or my half-brother, or was I created or-_ but he’d done it, he’d kept it inside.

For now.

Back to the task at hand. He started going around the living-room, just looking at first. It felt so strange, being in there. The house was very clearly deserted - it was dusty and moldy and grimy - but most of the furniture was still there, as well as a lot of decorations and knick-knacks. There was, for example, a row of porcelain clowns on a sideboard. Creepy. Nero had never been really big on clowns. Not that he was afraid, or anything. Just… uncomfortable. He distinctly remembered trying to punch one at another child’s birthday party. To be fair the clown had surprised him. And he’d been like 5 or 6. Gosh, he’d gotten into so much trouble.

He always got into trouble in Fortuna. Too impulsive, too loud, too excited, too reckless. He’d heard it all. That child never listens, can never do anything right, will always be trouble.

He shook his head a little, frowning, as if doing so would chase the thoughts away. He picked up one of the clowns and started examining it. It was so powerfully kitschy and creepy that it almost turned around to cute. He was considering bringing it back for Kyrie. Maybe she’d like it. Or maybe that shit was cursed to all hell.

If the alleged demon took on the form of a clown, he was calling Dante. (No, he wouldn’t, because then Dante would never let him hear the end of it.)

He was carefully wrapping the clown in a spare shirt when his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket - with the human hand. He’d had a little mishap with the Devil Bringer and the glass screen and was more careful since. He could be delicate with the bringer, he really could, but turns out that grabbing the cellphone from halfway across the room with the demonic arm had been a bad idea.

Another picture of Kyrie appeared on the cracked screen, along with her name. He picked up so fast he almost dropped it.

“Hey Kyrie,” he said softly.

“Hi Nero. Did you make it to the place okay?”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t call you earlier, I got sidetracked. I hope you didn’t worry?” he asked more than a little guiltily. He really hoped he hadn’t worried her.

“Oh, it’s fine.” She laughed a little uneasily. “I was getting a little restless, I’ll admit. But you can handle yourself, right? I don’t know what I’ve got to worry about.”

Since the unfortunate events in Fortuna, Nero had noticed Kyrie getting a little more anxious. Not for herself, but for other people. He could feel her getting worried if someone was gone for too long, and though she tried to hide it, he could see her relief every time he walked back in the door.

Wasn’t hard to figure out why. Credo had gone, and he was never coming back. And maybe one day, one of them, Nero or Dante or Lady or Trish, would do the same.

Guilt ate at his heart.

“It’s okay to worry, Kyrie. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“No, no, it’s okay. So, did you find anything?” she asked, interested.

“Nothing yet.” Nero told her all about it, which was not much. He left out the part about the toxic mold and the dead rat and the clowns. “I’m still going to check it out a little more, since I’m here, but I think this place will be a bust.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.” she was trying to not sound too relieved.

He shrugged. “Eh, I knew I was probably not going to find anything here when I took the job.” It technically wasn’t even a job. “But someone had to check it out.”

“You’re so diligent Nero.” He could hear her smiling and he rubbed at his nose, embarrassed.

“I’m not _that_ diligent.”

“Yes you are! Always doing what needs to be done. He’d be so… proud.” she choked a little on the last word.

 _I miss him too,_ he wanted to say, but didn’t.

“I’m going to finish checking this place out and I’ll call you back, okay? I’ll probably be back by nightfall.”

“Okay.” She was quieter now. They both were thinking about the same thing but couldn’t quite bring themselves to discuss it, and they both knew.

“I love you.”

“Love you too. Be careful.”

“I will.”

He hung up and felt like a ton of brick had suddenly settled in his stomach. Suddenly it was as if a black curtain hung over everything, and he hated feeling like that. He was always happy to talk to Kyrie, but now he felt horribly guilty and it wasn’t her fault at all.

Maybe next time he could bring her. Or maybe that was a terrible idea. Maybe they could go on a nice hike like this one. You know, somewhere with no demon. Hell, he could bring her back here. She’d probably get a kick out of it like he did. She’d always had an adventurous side that people didn’t see at first glance, but he’d known her long. She liked adventure as much as he did. Wasn’t fair that she had to stay home while he got all the fun.

He finished wrapping the clown and put it in his bag, then moved on to the next room but his heart wasn’t really in it anymore. He was gonna do a more methodical sweep then leave. He’d come back with Kyrie.

He extricated himself from the house and was suddenly hit with a powerful feeling of dread. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. He inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm down, but also looking all around him to make sure he wasn't about to get jumped by a demon. Nothing, but the feeling, while not as strong as it’d been at first, was not fading away. Well that was weird, but it didn’t necessarily mean anything supernatural was going on. _I think I’m probably having a panic attack_ he thought with a strange sort of analytical calm. _That’s what it’s supposed to feel like, right?_

Well that was sort of new, but not surprising. Wasn’t hard to see where that was coming from.

It was so quiet out there, other than the sound of his breathing. Somehow that freaked him out more and he couldn’t figure out why, at first.

He had the sudden realisation that other than demons, ghosts or aliens, there was something else he hadn’t come across.

Animals. Live ones. No bird, no squirrel, no rat, nothing. Not even a damn butterfly.

That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t normal at all.

Okay, he had to stay calm. Didn’t mean anything, but still, maybe he should leave. He started walking towards the entrance he’d came from, quickly, but not running. If there _was_ something here, he wanted to see it. That was what he was here for, wasn’t it?

His hand instinctively went to Blue Rose in its holster as he speed-walked towards the exit, and the weight of it felt good. Reassuring. It grounded him a little. And he started to feel just a tiny bit ridiculous. What, exactly, was he running from, uh? Nothing, goddamn nothing. And since when did he run from a fight, uh? Had he _ever_ run from a fight?

He didn’t. Even when he probably should have.

But, _fuck._ Whatever it was - a panic attack or the strongest, most sickening demonic aura he’d ever had the displeasure to feel -, it was suffocating. He needed to breathe. Maybe in the trees, he could breathe.

He forced himself to slow down and turn around as he approached the forest path. Nothing was following him, and if _something_ actually was, well, he’d fight the hell out of it. No way was he leading _whatever that maybe was_ back towards civilisation. Nu-uh. He wasn’t some irresponsible coward.

He looked all around him. Nothing. The feeling of being followed, of being observed didn’t stop.

“Bet you’re too chicken-shit to fight me.” he called out, just in case. Waited several seconds, during which breathing got easier. Cockiness was always a good refuge to him.

Only dead silence answered him. He felt ridiculous. It wasn’t like him to freak out like that, not over a fight at least, and he was totally blaming all of this on a panic attack.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he scoffed, and turned around.

And walked face-first into a red, glowing, pulsating barrier. Okay, that was more like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next chapter: A demonic stalker, a mysterious house, and Nero eats a snack


	2. Lost Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, commented or left kudos. It truly meant a lot. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

“Ow” announced Nero matter-of-factly, stunned, but not for long. He turned around back towards the town and as he did he could see everything _changing._

The sky was… Nero didn’t know how to describe it. It was like it bled out the blue, not all at once but very fast, and melted into something else, darker, a deep red the colour of a coagulating wound. Dark, bruise-purple and black clouds now swirled in it. It was super tacky.

Everything was suddenly darker, like night had fallen very fast, but he could still see pretty well, like on a very clear moonlit winter night, light reflecting on pure white snow. Except there was no snow. Just pavement and grass, part of which was being overtaken by strange, sinewy, reddish-brown veins.  They also started climbing up over building and lamp posts and every fixture they could find, really. One tried Nero’s foot but he shook it off and it didn’t try again.

“Wow, gross. Those boots are new.”

Then the transformation was done and everything was now a brown and black and red demonic mess. You could still see the town underneath, but somehow that just made it creepier.

Whatever it was that was doing that, it was exuding pure malice but now that Nero could kind of pinpoint where it was coming from, it didn’t phase him. _Yeah, yeah, manifestation of pure evil or whatever. Just get to the fighting part please._ He pulled out red Queen out of his gym bag, and revved her once, twice.

He couldn’t help but feel happy at this new developpement. He hadn’t come all of this way for nothing after all. Gone was the crushing, anxious feeling. Instead was the familiar euphoria of a fight. Nero didn’t just fight because someone needed to do it - that was a big part of it, of course, a sense of duty - but because he liked it, and he was damn good at it.

“Finally something exciting. I was starting to get kind of bored to be honest!” he told no one in particular, the demon causing this probably. Presumably it would try to jump him very soon. And then Nero would probably need to do some kind of puzzle to unlock the barrier. He didn’t really get the puzzle thing, but somehow it always happened. Maybe demons really liked puzzles.

He was eyeing the area for a vague idea of what he needed to do when the first demon, some kind of ugly featherless chicken looking thing, screeched before flinging itself at him from a tree. Nero just shot it, shitting all over its momentum and it landed ungracefully on the pavement with a wet sound and a displeased cry. Nero extended the Devil Bringer and smashed it into the ground again, where it exploded in a bunch of slimy pieces. “Fantastic. I didn’t even bring any wet wipes.”

Four more of them came at him from all angles and he tried to aim a shot into each of them, taking a step back to not get a facefull of raw demonic chicken breast. Okay, this was getting a little more serious, but still nothing he couldn’t handle. There was a danger of getting overwhelmed by sheer quantities, but Nero wasn’t too worried. All that was getting thrown at him so far was weaklings.

He hacked and slashed and grabbed and slammed until the last demon screeched its death screech, then he looked around. Yeah, the barrier still wasn’t down. Well then, time to find a puzzle to solve or other demons to kill. If he could pick, he’d prefer the killing, but he could deal with the puzzle too. It would just be very disappointing.

“Okay, okay, getting the message. I’m staying to kick your ass, you happy?” he smiled, taunting whatever was out there with a mock bow. He started swaggering back into town when the thought hit him that he should probably call Kyrie and let her know he might be longer, just in case, before this got more intense and the excitement of it all made him forget. Or before he got his hands so damn full of demonic bullshit he couldn’t find the time to make a phone call. After a quick glance around to make sure he wasn’t about to get attacked, he pulled his phone out of his hoodie - blue, naturally - pocket and clicked on his most frequent contacts. She was first, of course, closely followed by Dante’s shop. He’d called Lady like once, too, but that was pretty much it. He didn’t… have much people to call.

The phone rang like three times before Kyrie picked up.

“Hey Kyrie,” he said.

“Hey Nero! You okay? You’re calling back pretty soon.” the sound was a little bad, but he could still hear every word distinctly, so whatever.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Gonna be a while longer, though, I-”

Crackling filled his ear.

“Nero? I can’t hear you well, y-”

The crackling got louder and the line started fizzling, the sound cutting in and out.

“Kyrie, I”

“Nero, is - --- --  ca--- back-- okay?” The line brutally cut out and the tone sounded in his ear, almost like taunting.

He swore. That wasn’t exactly going to reassure her, now, was it? He tried calling back but only got a busy signal, no matter how many times he tried. He tried texting, but his texts didn’t go through. After a few tries he had no other choice but to give up and press on.

He tried not to think too much about Kyrie worrying as he advanced further into town. Nothing he could do about for now. If he had to guess, he’d say whatever demonic activity was going on here was to blame. Get rid of whatever was responsible, and he’d probably be able to call back.

Or maybe this place was too backwoods, but his calls had connected before, so it probably wasn’t that.

Another pack of demon attacked him as he made his way, and he made short work of them too. Where to now? It was hard to say, but in his experience, if he was encountering resistance, he was going the right way.

He lifted his eyes to the sky and - oh, yeah, definitely that way.

Above his head, the red hues of the sky were swirling and forming a sort of abstract spiral with a very clear focal point at its center: the top of the mountain overlooking town. Of course. Of course it had to be on top of the fucking mountain, where else? He sighed. Welp, he was in for a long walk, but there was no helping it. Good thing he had his good boots on. He started walking.

 

* * *

 

The farther into town Nero got, the more demons he encountered. That was not that much of a problem. Sure, the fight were getting harder and harder, but he was fine for now. Just… very slow moving. He had barely just crossed the house he’d visited, and it had taken him way longer to reach it than the first time.

No, something else was bothering him. Someone - or something - was following him. He’d noticed it after a fight, very close still to the entrance of town, when despite having killed all the demons around him, the air still felt heavy with energy. His Bringer had also started glowing bright blue on and off, seemingly without rhyme or reason, and that was a little unnerving. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a glimpse of his mystery follower.

Another demon, most likely, but one more powerful than the small fry that had been throwing itself at him for the last… what, hour? And more careful. It hadn’t attacked him yet, it was just watching, and that probably wasn’t good. That thing was smart, good at remaining hidden, and it was observing him for whatever nefarious purpose. Probably studying the best way to maul him effectively. That boded ill.

At some point he was pretty sure he’d seen something - some kind of dark, wispy silhouette - from the corner of his eye, high up in a dead tree, but when he turned around there was nothing but branches swaying gently in the wind.

He’d felt nervous the first time he’d called out to it, like the thing was going to jump in his face like a bad horror movie villain, but nothing had happened, so he kept doing it, because being sassy always made him feel better.

“Ya know, it’s pretty creepy to just follow people around silently,” he called out. “If you’ve got something to say to me you should come out and say it to my face. I can take it.” Only time would show if he could, in fact, take it.

Once again there was no answer so Nero went on, trying at the same time not to let it bother him too much but also not to forget about it, just in case it finally decided to attack.

He was coming up on a house that had drawn his attention from far away. It was just fucked up beyond anything else he’d seen in town, and the damage didn’t look to have occured recently. It seemed old. The thing had been white, once upon a time, but now it was grey and black, the wood rotted and even charred in some places. All the windows were broken, and you could see where flames had come pouring out of them, licking the once-white paint. There was a story there, maybe surnatural, or maybe as mundane as a desperate insurance claim when the owners couldn’t manage to sell it. He wasn’t very likely to find out which, but still, he kind of wanted to see. Call it morbid curiosity or whatever.

But first, he needed a snack. He sat down on the curb on the opposite side of the street and dug the Cliff bar the trucker had given him out of his hoodie pocket. He waved it, hopefully in the direction of his silent stalker.

“You want some of this? No? Well too bad.” he ripped off the packaging and started munching. Pretty tasty. When he was done he wiped the crumbs from his hoodie and shoved the wrapping in his bag. He wasn’t about to litter, not even in some demonic helltown. He meant this one, not Fortuna.

He crossed the completely destroyed lawn, then hesitated at the window. It probably wasn’t very prudent to box himself in an unknown, confined space when there was something lurking about waiting for an opportunity to attack it on home turf.

He shrugged and climbed in anyway. He’d just have to be careful.

The flooring in this one was wood, or what was left of it anyway. It was charred in many places, and he realised his mistake when he put both feet on the ground and one of them went through the floor. That wasn’t very good. “Well, shit.”

Of course that was the moment he realised the house was filled to the brim with demons, when one came flying at his face as he tried desperately to get his foot unstuck. He almost got a faceful of claws but bent backwards and used his Bringer to block the attack, protecting his face with it. “Back off pal.” The demon, of course, didn’t, and Nero shot it over his arm while it clawed violently at the scaly hide. He then shot it again for good measure, and grabbed at it to slam it and -

Something heavy landed on his back and screeched in his ear. Shit. He tried to grab at Red Queen but his hands were a little full at the moment. He reared his human hand back and shot at the demon point blank to get it off him. Never a very good idea to shoot right next to your face, and the painful ringing in his ear in the next moment brutally emphasized that, but he was kind of in a bind.

The demon didn’t fully let go and Nero kind of stumbled back with it, disoriented, while the one he’d been trying to slam to the ground jumped at his face again. He shot out his Bringer in front of him almost entirely in reflex and crushed its head between powerful claws.

That still let the one clinging to him - and, oh good, two more of them coming from a doorway leading to another part of the house. Well, at least two more. He could hear noise coming from another opening, but it was shrouded in darkness, almost unnaturally so. Welp. Better hurry with the ones he was already dealing with.

He drew Red Queen with his Bringer as his other hand was busy with Blue Rose and shoved the blade backwards into the demon at his back. It screeched as Nero twisted the blade, and then dissolved, coating Nero’s blade and arm in viscous blood. He shook it off, groaning. “Gross.” Now onto the next two demons. He shot 3 bullets in each, then reloaded as fast as he could without letting go of Red Queen. Jeez, he needed a third arm.

A really upsetting noise was now coming from the darkened doorway, the one he couldn’t see in. Whatever was in there it sounded… wet.

He shoved his sword back in its holster. The Bringer would do a better job at keeping the demons off him. He grabbed at one of the two in the doorway, and slammed it into the other. He didn’t have time to see if that was enough, because something came at him from the back.

It didn’t get him, though, because at that moment a gigantic, dark, slimy tentacle came shooting from the dark hallway, swept his feet from under him, and dragged him through the living room to the doorway. “Hell no!” he shot at it until he was out of bullets. Whatever the fuck that was, he was convinced of one thing: if he let that thing drag him to the thick, impenetrable darkness in the hallway, it would be very bad. He wasn’t ending as demonic octopus food.

The bullets weren’t stopping it, nor was his desperate swatting at it with the Bringer. He holstered the revolver and drew the sword.

He was almost to the doorway now.

He shoved Red Queen through the tentacle, pinning it to the floor. That wasn’t enough to kill it, but it was enough to stop it. It desperately tried to wriggle free, and in doing so, let Nero dislodge his ankle after a brief, but intense struggle which Nero would have described as him doing his best impression of a cat not wanting to be bathed.

He got to his feet… or tried to, anyway. The floor gave out under him and he sunk to his torso. Nero swore loudly.

The tentacle unpinned itself from the floor and reared up like a snake, taking Red Queen with it. “ Oh no, you’re giving that back. You can’t afford the interest on it,” sneered Nero. Well shit. That had been a mistake. The tentacle raised the sword higher, and Nero was pretty sure it wasn’t smart enough to taunt him, but it still felt like it. “Now you’re just being mean.”

He was pretty fucked, but he’d gotten out of tighter binds. Just needed to extricate himself out of the floor, for a start.

Speaking of the floor, he could feel it vibrating, and he could hear shuffling footsteps behind him. Oh good. Someone was coming for round 2.

He shot his Bringer out in front of him and grabbed Red Queen, pulling it out of the tentacle. It tried to retaliate by taking a wild swing at him, and he lowered his head at the last second, cringing.

From the screech and loud thud coming from behind him, the tentacle had hit an unintended target. Cool. If those two idiots could fight it out, it would give him a few seconds to get himself unstuck.

He started dragging himself out of the floor, first with his arms then pushing with his legs, in the direction of the exit. He was NOT fighting this thing in its own territory. Hell, ideally he would just get out of here and set the whole thing on fire. Finish the damn job someone had started.

He was army crawling out of the corridor when something wrapped around his ankle. “Oh fuck no,” he barely had time to stay before it lifted him from the ground and dangled him upside down. He let out a kind of embarrassing noise - good thing there was no one here to hear him - and shoved the bringer’s claws into the weird, scaly, slippery hide.

It did not like that, and it expressed that fact eloquently by rearing back, shaking a powerless Nero like a ragdoll, and throwing him the length of the corridor through the window he came in from, which was, thankfully, almost already fully broken, except from some sharp edges that bit through his arms and legs and he was hurled outside.

He landed on the crumbling, dusty lawn with crunching noises and a soft _oof._

“Joke’s on you asshole, this is exactly what I wanted!” he called back to the house and the evil, tentacley evil that lurked inside. Well, he wanted out, that was true,  but in his version he didn’t land in the middle of a pack of more demons. Eh, that was fine. At least it wasn’t tentacles.

He quickly jumped to his feet, brandishing Red Queen and pointing it at the demon pack rapidly encircling him. “So, which one of you wants go first? No takers, okay, I’ll pick.” He grabbed one with the bringer and shoved his sword into its chest when he was close enough.

He was blustering, but he needed to get those fuckers away from him. There were way too many at the same time. He had to go on the offense. Too many to defend against. If he could just cut a path through them, he could put some distance and pick them off one by one, or at least at a more reasonable pace.

He was slashing and grabbing and punching but he was getting overwhelmed, and he got careless. Claws swiped at his back, and that almost distracted him from the tentacle suddenly bursting through the window, coming straight for him. “Sh-”

That’s when he felt it. The presence, closer than it’d been before. His arm glowed an alarming bright blue, brighter than he’d ever seen it glow. Welp, that was it, he was fucked.

A silhouette burst in his vision, black and wispy and _quick_ , and in one swift movement of a big, nasty looking shiny sword, it cut through the tentacle. The now useless appendage fell to the floor.

“You looked like you could use a hand,” the entity said in a voice that was entirely too human but also just _off_  enough to not be. It sounded… distant, and kind of raw, like someone unused to speaking, trying out the sounds.

There was no time to gawk at the tall figure, because he still had a pack of demons at his back. He shoved Red Queen backwards into the demon at his back, then used the bringer to push a few away from him.

He could have Triggered, but something stopped him. He needed to keep his strength for the newcomer. Whoever or whatever he was, Nero could feel the demonic energy rolling off him like waves. Sure, he seemed to be helping now. He’d turned away from the house and was now cutting through the demonic horde with grim efficacy and blows that were few, but always landed. But Nero had an inkling that when he was done with the small fry, he’d turn on him just as quick, and he needed to be ready and at full strength for that.

Call it paranoia or trust issues or trauma or whatever, but it would keep him alive. He wasn’t falling for the same tricks twice. He wasn’t mistaking an enemy for an ally again.

The two of them made short work of the assailants. When there were but 3 demons remaining, the newcomer backed off and let Nero deal with them. He just stood there, watching as Nero finished them off, warily eyeing the tall dark silhouette out of the corner of his eye. Well, that was definitely creepy.

As the last demon screamed, Nero put Red Queen back in its belt and turned to the newcomer, careful to also step away from the house of tentacles. He was ready to trigger at any moment, but tried to act casual.

“Thanks for your help,” he offered, extending his human hand like for a handshake despite the fact that he was standing as far away as he politely could, and maybe a bit farther than that, and despite the fact that the last thing he wanted right now was a handshake. All the hairs of his arm were raised in alarm, he noticed.

He didn’t need to worry about his handshake being accepted, though

“You are an idiot,” the other cut in. He sounded angry, and cold. Nero bristled. _Uh, fuck you too?_

“Uh? W-”

“You are an idiot for letting yourself get surrounded like that, and for throwing yourself blind into a situation you clearly cannot handle on your own.” he gestured at the house behind him. “Couldn’t you feel the power in there? Or did you think you could defeat it with that sloppy technique and wild flailing?”

Nero bit back his first answer, which was going to be “well fuck you too buddy.” He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he _was_ an asshole about it. Nero wasn’t really at the top of his game right now, that was true. But if he could just wrestle back control of himself, and calm down, he’d be back to his usual style, which was not _sloppy, asshole_ and he certainly wouldn’t _flail wildly._ He gritted his teeth, coming up short for an answer. He wasn’t about to defend himself to a complete stranger. He changed the subject.

Now that he was in front of him, the newcomer seemed… realer. Certainly not mundane, but certainly not as vaporous and elusive as he’d felt from a distance, following creepily. He also felt… familiar, but Nero had trouble pinpointing how. If Nero had to put a name to the feeling, he would have picked “dreamlike”.

“You’re not a demon.” Nero blurted out, and he didn’t need to wait for the answer to know he’d said something stupid.

“Yes I am,” said the man, voice dripping with contempt.

Great, he was not helping his case of not being an idiot. He halfway turned to the demon goo littering the floor, searching for a defense. He gestured at it.

“No, I mean you’re not like them.”

The stranger scoffed. “Of course not.”

There was a long silence as Nero was at a loss of what to answer to that, and his interlocutor didn’t seem to have any desire to contribute anything else to the discussion.

“Well, guess I’ll be going. Thanks for your… help.” He wiped his nose. Usually he would have just started walking and left but he didn’t want to be the first to turn his back on the other. There was an aura of menace about this guy. His face was obscured entirely by a hood, save his chin and mouth, but despite that Nero could _feel_ him staring at him, like a wild dog considering if his prey was worth the chase and fight.  And he was standing between where he was and where he wanted to go.

As if feeling his intentions and apprehensions, the man drew his sword. _Ah, fucking saw this one coming a mile off._  Nero’s hand went to his own.

“It’s coming. Get ready.” said the stranger. What did that mea-

Suddenly there was a thundering roar, and Nero turned to it. It was coming from the house. It… tore itself apart in front of his eyes, collapsing as if its substance had been devoured from the inside.

“Oh f-”

A gigantic shape that couldn’t possibly have fitted in there burst out of the ruins, and Nero recognized it at once. It was all tentacles and unfathomable darkness. Its shape was… incomprehensible, and trying to make sense of it’s grotesque body made Nero’s head swim, so he stopped trying. Focus on one thing at a time. Like that huge tentacle coming for his… ally? Ally for now, at least, until this thing was beaten. The stranger raised his sword to meet the appendage, but Nero slapped the tentacle away with his bringer.

“Be careful, it packs quite a punch,” he warned him. “And it likes to steal swords.”

The man made a sound Nero had trouble parsing - gratitude, annoyance? Hard to say - and  gestured at the creature with his weapon in the universal language of “come on, fight me!”

“So you finally show your face,” he called to it, which Nero found kind of funny considering he couldn’t even begin to comprehend if that thing had a face. “ Tired of lying in wait for your next meal like the bottom feeder you are?”

It was no surprise that the creature answered. Demons, Nero had learned, liked to talk, and trash-talking them was a sure-fire way of riling them up. But when it answered… it was a garble of incomprehensible, eldritch noises that could maybe be called syllables, if you had a loose definition of syllables, and Nero couldn’t make sense of a single one, except that somehow, he _understood._ There was a second voice, ethereal and bizarre, and it talked directly into his _brain_ , and he could understand it perfectly.

“Hail, blood of Sparda. You’ve come to challenge me and I accept the challenge. The winner will feast on the loser’s bones!” The garbled of syllables and the booming voice in his head made Nero’s head hurt, but he tried not to let it show.

It was always strange for him when people connected him to Sparda’s lineage, but by now he knew, or at least thought he knew. He just didn’t know how, and if only _Dante would tell him-_ No time for an identity crisis. He had a red hot quip ready, just at the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, we-” The stranger once again cut him off.

“We both know who will lose here, and it’s you, you wretched pile of flesh. Enough talk. Let’s fight.”

Okay, well, that was more or less the gist, though Nero wouldn’t have said it quite like _that._

“Then come, Blood of Sparda!” roared the voice in his head and wasn’t that strange it was addressing him when the stranger had been the one to taunt him? But he paid it no more mind. Maybe the weird demon was confused by human anatomy. Maybe it thought of him and the stranger as one entity. Whatever the answer, Nero didn’t have time to linger on it. For now there was a fight to be won.

He looked over at his ally, trying to catch his gaze, which was no easy feat considering the guy’s hood covered like 70% of his face. When he got his attention - or at least felt like he did -, he nodded.

“Let’s do this.” Maybe if he made him feel like they were a team, the stranger would think twice before mauling him once he felt their collaboration had run its course.

“Let’s.” His ally nodded back, his voice flat but determined.

Nero turned back to the dark mass and revved Red Queen. “Hope you’re ready to die, ‘cause here I come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I keep making arm jokes on purpose? Maybe.
> 
> I'll probably be updating this weekly, or something like that!


	3. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for all your comments, I love reading them!

Nero charged at the mass of tentacles and darkness like he intended to just collide into it and hope for the best, but he had a plan. The thing surely was going to try to defend itself with its many, disgusting tentacles, and Nero intended to cut off or at least damage as many as he could. He revved up Red Queen as he ran, charging it as much as possible.

His ally made a noise behind him that sounded disapproving - Nero had experience with these sort of sounds - but he blocked it out. Self-doubt was the fastest way to getting your ass kicked into next week. If the guy didn’t like his plan he could express it in clear, concise sentences.

As he’d predicted, tentacles shot out for him, two of them. He unleashed devastating strikes on them with Red Queen, fire bursting out of the blade. They recoiled and the beast _screamed_ and if hearing it speak had been an unpleasant experience, hearing it scream was awful in just every sense of the word. It was everywhere. It was in his _mind_ and it was _hateful._ Nero was caught off guard by it, and lost himself to it for a moment. A moment too long. When he came to his senses the third tentacle was close, way too close.

He tried blocking it with his demon arm and the strength of the impact knocked him back, far back, until he hit something solid. Well that was better than being grabbed.

“What is wrong with you?” said the something solid. Okay maybe that wasn’t better.

“Sorry”, he answered because _he_ , unlike _some_ people, wasn’t an asshole.

“Sorry is not going to cut it,” sneered his _ally_ , and he grabbed Nero by the collar, yanking him back, out of reach of the demon. If he was expecting a thank you for that, he wasn’t getting it. He wasn’t a fucking dog. “Get a hold of yourself. If you cannot do that, then get out of here and out of my way. You’ll only be an hindrance.”

Nero saw red. What right did this guy have to treat him this way? He wheeled around on him and pushed him off, getting his hands off his collar. “Don’t you touch me!” he snarled.

The other seemed put off, but didn’t retaliate.

“You touched me first,” he mocked, but he seemed sincere enough as he went on. “I won’t be doing it again.” The way he said it placated Nero somewhat.

“You better fucking not.”

“You have my word. But don’t let yourself get thrown at me again or you might find me less gentle than I’ve been.”

“Yeah you do that and I’ll fucking rip your ar-”  A tentacle shot at them and they both deflected it with their respective swords. “ Do you fucking mind?” Nero said, turning to their opponent. “We’re talking here.”

He turned to his ally. “Let’s have this argument later.”

The man nodded solemnly. “Agreed.”

Nero had a flash of inspiration.

“Do you want us to have, like, a strategy?” He scratched his nose a little, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“Sure. The strategy is that you stay out of my way and pull your own weight. Satisfied? Let’s stop dithering.” And with that, he teleported away, reappearing above a part of the demon’s body and launching a devastating downward strike with his sword.

“Man, you are _such_ an asshole,” muttered Nero as he watched the strike hit, magical energy first, blade second, and completely sever an appendage.

He didn’t run in immediately, just stood back shooting at the thing for a bit. At first because he wanted to show his ally he could _stay out of his way_ but then for other reasons. He might have been an asshole, but watching him fight was… It was both transfixing and satisfying. He was _good_. No, better than good. He hit strong, and he didn’t hit in vain. Every strike, it served a purpose, and it always landed. And in the middle of that, he didn’t get hit. Not once. He set up his attacks very carefully, and when he reached his goal, he got out, and prepared another hit. Nero watched him teleport next to a tentacle, lop it off like it was nothing - and it wasn’t! Nero had stuck Red Queen in one of those, and they were _dense_ -, and then just step back from another before teleporting to his next, undefended target.

He was filled with conflicted feelings. A part of him yearned. For what, he wasn't sure? Approval from someone clearly talented, or maybe the desire to be as talented himself? Another part was anxious. The damage this man, or demon, or whatever could do if he decided to turn on him, or on humanity…

Suddenly there was a presence next to him, and Nero jumped a bit, then covered it up by revving Red Queen when he saw it was the stranger.

“If you were going to lose your nerve, you should have said so.” He was angry.

“I’m not losing my nerve,” answered Nero through gritted teeth. Then, louder, to cover up any hesitation or weakness the man might imagine in his voice. “Stop _dithering_ and let’s go!” He ran at a tentacle that was rapidly snaking its way to them, and jumped when it came for his feet, landing on the appendage and immediately finding his balance. “Woo!”

His ally said something that sounded annoyed but Nero didn’t hear it over the sound of battle concentration. He ran up the length of the tentacle, dragging Red Queen into the flesh, leaving a trail of fire as he went. The creature screeched, but this time, Nero was ready, or at least readier, and he steeled himself against the sound, tried to shut it out as much as possible. It still wasn’t pleasant, but like with most things, this time, he could withstand it.

The creature tried to dislodge him by shaking the tentacle, but ahah, Nero was ready for that too. He just jammed Red Queen in deeper, and held on for dear life. This big piece of shit could try all it wanted, his grip the Devil Bringer was pretty much unbreakable and he wasn’t letting go of his sword this time.

At the base of the tentacle, there was a disgusting, but also vulnerable looking eye, and that was what he was aiming for.  He didn’t know for sure, but he had a pretty good feeling that bursting this thing like an overripe fruit would do a lot of damage to the creature. _Aim for the weird fleshy bits_ was like, bullet-point number 1 in the demon hunter’s manual.

Through his world shaking and swaying as he held on for dear life, Nero could see that his ally was doing something similar on another tentacle, except he was jumping from one point to the next to avoid being thrown off, and he was doing all that with catlike grace, like it was nothing. Showoff. Nero’s attention went back to his own tentacle.

When he had a good enough angle, he pulled his sword out and jumped, aiming for the eye. In his peripheral vision, he saw the other do the same.

He was going to make it. His trajectory was good, he-

...Received the world’s biggest bitch-slap, courtesy of a demonic appendage. His momentum altered, he had no choice but to watch powerless as the _same exact thing_ happened to the stranger and they collided into each other with the force of the comet that had killed the dinosaurs colliding into earth. Or something like that. He might have been exaggerating, but the rattling that shook every bone in his body told otherwise. They both fell to the ground like a sack of wet, angry cats. Well, no. Nero’s back hit the ground, hard, but the stranger teleported away before the impact. _Must be nice_ , he reflected bitterly.

“Are you being a hindrance on purpose?” The stranger half roared, half growled at him from where he had teleported, and Nero heard their enemy _laugh_ in his head, which was both humiliating and just plain unsettling. He didn’t like it.  He fired back, burning with righteous anger.

“Maybe you need to learn to get out of the way, asshole!” He rolled to his feet, avoiding a tentacle. The tentacle’s owner laughed again.

“Come, now, Blood of Sparda, is that all you have to offer?”

“And you,” he pointed at their adversary with Red Queen, “You get bent.” Already his voice was changing.

He could feel the energy under his skin, the demonic power of his Devil Trigger just waiting to be unleashed. He could do it, right now. He wanted to wait it out, keep this ace up his sleeve in case his ally turned on him, but fuck him, and fuck that. He’d fucking show him. _I’ll show you hindrance asshole._

He triggered, and power washed over him, lending him a clarity he hadn’t felt since he’d started fighting today. He felt calmer, more in control of his emotions. A gross, weird looking demon had laughed at him, so what? He was still going to turn it into paste. His supposed ally was constantly insulting him? That was on him, not on Nero. All he could do was fight to the best of his abilities, show him what he was worth.

Speaking of his ally, he was just standing there, frozen. He’d turned in Nero’s direction, no doubt sensing the sudden burst of demonic energy. Nero could feel him _staring_ under the hood. In fact, he was staring so very hard, he didn’t notice the tentacle coming straight for him. Nero did, and it wasn’t that he _didn’t_ warn him, it’s just that he was _a smidge_ too late. “Hey, careful!” His ally reacted too slow, and the tentacle nailed him straight in the face, sending him flying a few meters. Nero thought himself a fairly decent person, in the grand scheme of things. He wasn’t perfect but mostly, he strived to be good. But he had to admit, deep down, for a moment, he found that kind of funny.

Then the moment passed and he was relieved to see the man get up and dust himself off angrily.

Okay, time to move on. He reached with his Devil Bringer, and grabbed at the closest of the great demon’s limb. “Hey, wanna see a trick?” He pulled, as hard as he could, and heaved the demon up in the air, before slamming him back down, hard. It wasn’t exactly easy, but he had enough strength to pull it off, and he did again, and again, ignoring the unnatural screams and cries coming out of it as best as he could. With the Devil Trigger at his back, it was easier. He felt steadier. Like he wasn’t alone. They were in this together. He and… Yamato? He wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter.

The grotesque demon was stunned, now he just needed the finishing touch. He called out to his ally, extending a sort of olive branch. “Okay, it’s your turn! Strike him now!” He’d seen how hard the guy could hit, how precise his strikes. If anyone could deliver a good killing blow, it would be him.

You had to give him credit, he didn’t need to be told twice. Without hesitation, he quickly dashed at the demon’s form, appeared in mid air above it, and executed a series of precise cuts that ended in the plunging of his enormous sword deep in the creature’s flesh. There was a cacophony of noises, both inside and outside Nero’s head, garbled syllables and sounds that didn’t seem to hold any meaning no matter the world or language. Well, no meaning but a very simple, easy to understand one: agony. Nero couldn’t help it, he plugged his ears and gritted his teeth. Gosh, that was awful.

Already the creature’s will and power was fading from this world. The stranger stepped away from it as the flesh liquefied and dissolved, like ink being absorbed into paper.

That thing was Dead, capital D. Nero let his Trigger fade away too. Despite the harsh words they’d exchanged, he trusted his ally not to maul him, at least until proof to the contrary.

Speaking of him, he was reaching out in the demon’s dissipating aura, which was concentrating into a single point. It solidified and soon an object appeared in his open hand, a dagger from the looks of it. He turned it over in his hands, examining it. It was a small, twisted thing, and when Nero stepped closer he could see that there was an unblinking eye on the handle, a smaller version of the ones that had been on the creature that now formed this Devil Arm.

Whatever the stranger was looking for, he seemed to find it, and he pocketed the dagger somewhere in his ample cloak. Kinda rude not to ask Nero if _he_ wanted it, though he supposed whoever gave the killing blow was technically entitled to the thing. He did wonder for a moment if it was safe to leave the weapon in the hands of someone whose intentions he was completely in the dark about, but decided to let it go, at least for now.

_Eh, what is he gonna do with that tiny knife, stab me? If he wants to kill me he’ll use the big nasty sword,_ he reasoned.

Okay, what now? He, of course, needed to go on deeper into the town, towards the mountain, but was his ally going the same way? Did he _want_ him to go the same way? Should he say something? He stepped closer, hoping he’d find some eloquent words fast enough to not make it awkward or look like an idiot again, but the other man saved him the trouble. He turned to him, and approached, almost warily. His whole demeanor had changed, and that put Nero on edge.

He sounded like he was measuring his words as he spoke.

“You’re strong,” he started.

“Thanks.” That was a nice change from the insults.

“... But inexperienced.”

Ah. But the way he said it wasn’t aggressive, not like before. There was no condescension, or at least, a great deal less of it. Maybe he was kind of right, just a little bit. Nero wasn’t exactly a newbie, but he wasn’t an expert either, not like Dante. Or this man. Still, he wanted to talk back. Tell him off. Thankfully he was once again saved the trouble of answering.

“What is your goal here?” The change in subject surprised Nero.

“My goal? I want to defeat whatever is possessing this town, so it doesn’t hurt anyone, and so I can go home.”

The stranger pondered his words in silence, then seemed to come to a decision.

“It seems our goals align for now. The entity you and I wish to defeat is-” he pointed and Nero followed his movement. “Upon that mountain. Let’s journey together.”

He probably should have said no. He didn’t know this guy, or his true intentions, or anything at all. Hell, he’d followed him in creepy silence for a long time. That couldn’t be good. No was the smart answer. A polite rejection, something that wouldn’t provoke him.

“Sure.”

Something inside him kept him from refusing. He _wanted_ to know. Know what? He wasn’t even sure, but his gut instinct told him it was important, and he trusted his gut. It’d gotten him this far in life.

“My name’s Nero. What should I call you?” He extended his hand, in earnest this time.

“You may call me Vergil.”

Vergil took his hand and shook it. His grip was solid, but his skin was cold, so damn cold. Nero suppressed a shudder.

“Let’s go then, Vergil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna have Vergil tell him to call him V, but, ya know, I figured that would be too weird considering there is a V now ahah. 
> 
> Coming up next: Nero eats again ( he's a growing boy!!!), clowns.


	4. Downtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannnd we're back! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's definitely sillier than the last one ahah.

They walked in silence for a while, Nero sometimes making a comment that was answered with a vague grunt of acknowledgement, sometimes not at all. Well that wasn’t, uh, _unnerving_ or anything.

They came across a few demons but dispatched them without breaking a sweat or anymore drama about _someone_ getting thrown into _someone else_.

Nero wanted to take a break. Not that he was getting tired, or anything like that, but he was getting _hungry._ Using a lot of power like he’d done always woke up his appetite. Nothing like Dante, who could probably consume his own weight in pizza if given the opportunity, of course, but definitely more so than the average person.

At first he didn’t say anything. _He_ knew he wasn’t tired, but what if his ally thought he was? Nero was conscious there was nothing shameful about needing rest but still, his pride was in the way. He didn’t want _him_ to think he was weak.

So he ignored the hunger for awhile. Then his stomach started growling - no, howling, so loud Vergil turned around to shoot him an accusatory look, as if Nero was doing that specifically to spite him.

“I’m hungry,” he defended himself, shrugging. His ally seemed unsatisfied with that answer, somehow. Eh, fuck it. Only one answer to this problem. Nero plopped down on the curb and started digging through his gym bag, which he’d retrieved after the big fight.

“What are you _doing?_ ” said Vergil after a few seconds of silent staring, breathing in deeply through his nose like he was annoyed and barely trying to contain it. _Gosh_ , that guy was so _pissy_ , and that was coming from someone with anger issues.

By then Nero had already found one of his sandwiches and shoved a bite in his mouth. “M’eating,” he answered nonchalantly, mouth full of bread. Seemed pretty obvious. But he shouldn’t judge. Did regular, full blooded demons eat, and if so, what did they eat? He’d seen Trish eat pizza, but did she need it to live, or was she doing it to mimic her companions? Was Vergil a regular, full blooded demon? Was he completely ignorant of human eating habits, or just inconsiderate (more likely)?

Did Vergil know about sandwiches?

To his surprise, Vergil sat next to him on the curb, close enough that the gesture seemed almost companionable, but far enough away that it also felt kind of awkward, like he didn’t know what the acceptable distance between two people was. It was better that way, really. Something deep inside Nero _wanted_ to trust this man, to get along with him, but it wasn’t that easy. Other betrayals, painful and sharp and humiliating were still fresh in his mind, and they pulled at him like gnarly scars.

Nero continued to chew on his sandwich, as casually as he could. No awkward atmosphere here, nope. He’d make small talk, but he had a feeling he’d probably get a lecture about talking with his mouth full. Or maybe that wasn’t a thing with demons? He’d have to ask… well, not Dante. Dante’s manners certainly weren’t up to par, either in human society or demon society, and he was liable to feed him a bunch of bullshit.

Next to him, a stomach growled, and it wasn’t his. He looked at the culprit, who was frowning like his own bodily functions somehow offended him.

“You hungry? ‘Cause I-”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. Okay, jeeze. That would teach Nero to try to be nice. He went back to his sandwich.

Movements to his left drew his attention back. Nero's companion had produced something from his cloak. Upon further inspection it turned out to be a dead bird. That he was now meticulously plucking and carving up. Cool. Cool. "Hey buddy, you, uh... want something else? I still have half this sandwich. I bit into it though, does that bother you?" the guy was preparing a freaking DEAD BIRD. To. Eat. "I got a cereal bar if you want it?" He fished it out of his pocket and shook it at him, trying not to show his concern at the whole situation.

His companion turned to him silently, clearly considering his offer from under his hood. After a while he snatched the cereal bar from Nero, dropped the dead bird, and carefully unwrapped it before eating it fast enough to rival Dante with a pizza slice. Nero almost sighed in relief. 

“You want the other half of my sandwich? I’m not hungry anymore,” he lied, shrugging. Vergil hesitated, then took it too. He ate it more slowly, in careful bites, while Nero politely tried not to look, but couldn’t resist stealing glances, because he had such a strange way of eating, like a nervous but famished animal. Nero couldn’t help but feel a strange pity, but quickly hid it when his ally turned back to him.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, glad you liked it.”

“The cereal bar tasted strange… but the sandwich was flavorful,” he added quickly, like he’d miraculously realized, for once, that he was being rude.

“Well, you’re welcome. It’s my special recipe. I use extra old style mustard, two kind of cheeses, and spinach leaves instead of lettuce, and whatever bread is on sale at the grocery store, but!” he raised a finger, making an important point. “None of that american style bread, too sugary. And it has to be whole grain.” He could tell instantly that he’d lost Vergil somewhere along the way, but that was fine. “My girlfriend likes it extra crunchy so she toasts it until it’s almost falling apart. That’s wrong, and you shouldn’t do that, but I still love her. Oh!” He suddenly remembered the gift he’d gotten for her, and rummaged through his bag, pulling the porcelain clown out of his shirt and examining it. Thankfully, it hadn’t gotten damaged in all the excitement.

Vergil was staring at him in silence again.

“What the hell… is that?” he asked after a moment. Nero felt his cheeks redden.

“That? It’s not for me, I took it for my girlfriend,” he defended himself, like he wasn’t the one who’d picked it out, troubled by how it combined cuteness and absolute creepiness in one cursed object.

Vergil clearly struggled to answer.

“Does your… girlfriend… have… Ah… Terrible taste?”

Nero was at a loss for words too.

“Uh, apart for sandwiches texture preferences, no. Well, I mean, I hope so? She chose me, so...” Did that mean she had good taste, or bad taste? He wasn’t sure. The question implied by the sentence was left up in the air, to be answered neither by Vergil or by himself.

“I hate clowns,” said Vergil instead. “And jesters.”

“Yeah, ugh, me too!” answered Nero empathically, overjoyed they’d found some common ground. “They just creep me out, you know? They look like they know stuff, and they won’t tell you, and why the fuck would you wear makeup that covers your facial features if you didn’t have anything to hide? Creepy, just creepy. Uh…” Maybe he should have added “no offense” to that, considering the guy wore a hood that obscured most of his face. To hide his embarrassment, he started wrapping the figurine up again.

“If you’re done eating, we should move on. I think we are attracting unwanted attention.” Vergil had already gotten up, and Nero followed his gaze to a group of rapidly coalescing shadows. He zipped up his bag and stood up to, one hand going to Red Queen and the other brushing crumbs off his sweatshirt.

“I hope they don’t want one of my sandwiches, because I brought enough for two, but I’m definitely not sharing with them.”

To his infinite surprise, that got a chuckle out of his ally, low and soft, but a chuckle nonetheless.

“If you really have to, give them the cereal bar. Less of a loss.”

Nero revved up Red Queen.

“Ah! Don’t have any more of those, sorry guys. Get your own snacks.”

There were three distinct shadows, and they stopped shifting, taking on each a concrete form, almost the same but with minor variations.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” exclaimed Nero, fighting a full-body shudder. “That’s just messed up, come on.”

Vergil sighed deeply.

“Very amusing, bravo. I’ll make sure your death is that much more painful, _clown_ ,” he spat out.

Because, of course, _of fucking course_ it had to be clowns. Not that it bothered Nero. He was totally over his childhood dislike of them. ‘Cause that’s what it was. A vague dislike. Not fear or anything. The huge frown on Nero’s face, that was just annoyance. Nothing more.

“Nero.” The way Vergil said his name was surprisingly gentle. Actually, he was pretty sure it was the first time he used it. “Don’t freeze, they’re just opportunistic scum, taking on a form they think will scare us. Not actual clowns.”

Nero didn’t feel like getting into a debate about what made a clown a clown, besides, he appreciated Vergil’s efforts for what they were: he was trying to be reassuring. To be nice. If that wasn’t progress…

“I’m not even scared of clowns anyway.” he shrugged. “Just don’t like ‘em.” That was one hundred percent the truth, and not a lie at all. To demonstrate, he charged at one of the shadows and striked it with a fully revved Red Queen. Right on cue, Vergil followed suit with his enormous sword.

A few swipes and punches of his demon arm made short work of his opponent. The enemy was weak, which was probably why it had felt the need to take on a form it thought intimidating. Well, it hadn’t worked, so too bad for it.

He briefly wondered if Vergil needed his help. He still wasn’t done with his. In fact, he was taking his sweet time, almost as if playing with it. Nero was reminded of a cat playing with a mouse. He kept giving the shadow superficial hits with the blade, giving it a window of opportunity to attack, then dodging it to attack again, never truly going in for the kill. Well, he was making it good on his promise to make it a painful death. Nero was… deeply uncomfortable. Yeah, sure, that was just some random demon that was trying to kill them, but it didn’t make it right. And who knew how this cruel streak would manifest next?

Or maybe he was reading too much into it.

Nero turned away. He had a third demon to take care of.

Something strange was going on with him. His arm was glowing bright blue, and there was a sort of itching in it, like too much blood rushing to the surface.

Yamato. Something inside of him - his instincts, maybe, or Yamato itself, like that time in the lab when it had saved his life- was screaming at him to take hold of the katana, so he did, pulling it out of his arm.

The third clown was dead after two slashes of it, its grotesque form dissipating in the wind. Thanks Sparda, he was so tired of looking at these things.

“I’m done, what about y-” He’d stepped back in Vergil’s direction, and when he turned around, the other man was much closer than he’d expected. And he had a blade to Nero’s throat, the one the first demon had turned into. He should really have seen that one coming. “What the h-” The tip of the weapon was pressed more deeply against his skin. Nero tried to take a step back, but his ally - enemy? - had anticipated this, and he caught Nero’s human arm in a grip tight enough to cut off circulation.

“Yamato,” Vergil said, his voice raw. “Give her to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY
> 
> Friend who hates Clif bars, I hope this chapter made you feel seen.


	5. Betrayal

Shock washed over Nero. At having a blade to his jugular and at information he didn’t know how to process. How did Vergil know the Yamato’s name? Why did he want it? And frankly, how had Nero not seen this betrayal coming? In his shock, he answered honestly, too honestly, still too surprised to be angry.

“I can’t give Yamato to you. My….” The word stuck in his throat. What was he trying to say? Father? What was Dante to him, exactly? “Someone important gave it to me. It belonged to his brother. I can’t.” He could think of no higher betrayal.

Vergil _howled_ at him, like a wounded animal.

“Yamato. is. mine.” He pushed at him, and they both fell to the ground, Nero struggling to keep the gnarled blade away from his throat with his devil bringer, Vergil trying to keep it there and to pin the hand holding Yamato to the ground.

Nero’s capacity for anger was waking up. How dare he? How dare he, this stranger, just walk up and claim what was _his_ , what had been given to Nero, because Dante saw something in him, _trusted him?_

Well, there was an easy way to solve this, take a problem out of the equation. Put the Yamato back in his arm. What was the fucker gonna do, rip his arm off? He was welcome to try.  Sure, the blade was probably his most powerful weapon, but not if he had to play keep away with it. Back in his arm, it would be safe, and besides, he could take down Vergil with the arm itself, no problem.

But no matter how he tried, and concentrated, and flexed his fingers, the katana wouldn’t go back. That was bad. And his opponent was using these precious seconds where Nero was distracted to gain some ground. Vergil nicked his neck with the dagger and Nero saw redder.

“Fuck you! Get off me!” Nero used his leg to push back at Vergil, planting it straight in the middle of his chest and pushing hard. It worked at peeling him off, and Nero used his newfound freedom to plant his other foot in Vergil’s face, sending him stumbling backwards.

Vergil screamed in rage, and Nero got to his feet as quickly as he could, because he seemed completely undeterred by the pain of getting kicked in the head. Not fast enough. Vergil yanked his ankle out from under him and Nero slammed into the ground once again, fingers digging almost painfully in the Yamato’s guard from holding on to it so hard. Well. If he couldn’t put the the katana back where it would be safe, might as well use it. Vergil had gotten up in a crouch in front of him, as if ready to spring upon him, and he slashed the air in front of his face with it, more a warning than an outright attack. He dodged it, of course, which was kind of a relief. Nero wasn’t ready to decapitate him, not just yet. Not if they could talk this out  “I am not” he slashed again, trying to buy himself more time. “Giving you the Yamato. It isn’t mine to give anyway.” He was almost pleading. _Don’t make me kill you, I’ll feel real weird about it._

Nero might as well be talking to a broken record, for all the headway he was making.

“The Yamato IS MINE!”

He threw himself at Nero and it would have been _so easy_ to just point the blade in his direction and let him disembowel himself with it, but instead, Nero just rolled out of the way. He cursed himself almost immediately for it when Vergil came at him again, clearly not swayed at all by his _admirable_ efforts to talk this out. He landed on him, pinning his sword arm to the ground with a knee. Nero had to hurriedly raise his bringer in front of his face to not get knifed. Sparda, this fucker was _strong!_ Nero didn’t recall ever struggling this hard with the bringer. It usually sent enemies flying with minimal effort.  “Stop! Trying! To! Stab! Me!”

“Give her to me,” he whispered, his mouth something either a smile or a sneer, or both “and I will.”

“I’m not giving you the Yamato.”

“Very well,” he said, and his smile/sneer widened. Nero barely had time to register it before something hard in Vergil’s free hand connected with his brow, sending blinding flashes of pain through his vision. He screamed, both  in pain and in surprise. He caught a glimpse of the object in Vergil’s hand, despite the shock. A rock. Vergil had hit him with a fucking rock. Were they 10 years old having a scrape in a park? “You wanna fight dirty? Let’s fight dirty.”

Nero didn’t have a lot of options. His sword arm was pinned under Vergil, and if he used his Bringer for anything else he was leaving his face undefended from a knife attack to the face. The rock had been unpleasant, a knife to the eye would be worse. Kicking his legs at Vergil had little effect, as he couldn’t reach anything vital in the position he was in.

No, if he wanted to keep his head, he had to use it. Nero reared back and headbutted his opponent as hard as he could. He’d always been told he was hardheaded, well now it was time to put that to the test.

From Vergil’s cry of rage and pain, it had worked. Nero kicked with both his feet to get out from under him and his dagger. He clawed at the dirt with his Bringer and threw a handful of it at his face. Vergil reflexively wiped at his face, and Nero used his momentary distraction to kick him in the knee, unpinning his arm. Then he scrambled to his feet, trying to keep his balance, trying to get as far away from Vergil as he could. He needed to get some distance between himself and this feral asshole.

Vergil had fallen on his ass, and either during the struggle or the subsequent fall, his hood had been thrown back.

Nero froze mid step, the hand holding Yamato raised staying up and then falling slack to his side. That… couldn’t be.

It was like being shown a photograph of someone you know, but not quite recognizing them at first, despite knowing you should. Familiar, in an uncanny way.

A picture of Dante, but strange and distorted.

A more tired Dante, but whereas Dante looked tired from a lifetime of partying, sleepless nights, and heavy responsibilities, Vergil looked like death warmed over.

He was pale, paler than anyone should ever be, and through the cracked skin, Nero could see more veins than he should have been able to. Vergil looked like a man falling apart, his skin flaking off like rocks eroded off a cliff face. He had cheekbones that were more defined than Dante’s, though that could have been because of how gaunt he was. They had the same mouth, Vergil’s desperately in need of some chapstick. The nose was almost the same too. They were some differences, but on the whole, that was almost Dante’s face.

And in the middle of that face, cold blue eyes, so familiar but so much colder than he was used to. One of them was full of broken blood vessels, the red almost overtaking the blue.

“Are you… Dante’s brother?” Nero asked, and startled at how tiny and quiet his voice sounded.

Suddenly it made sense, except that it did not. Wasn’t Dante’s brother dead? Wasn’t that Dante had always implied? _It belonged to my brother_ , Dante had said. _My brother is… gone_ , he’d also said another time, as he and Nero had talked well into the night and the discussion had diverged into painful territory. Dante had stopped here, unable or unwilling to say more.

If that was Dante’s brother, didn’t that change things? Should Nero give him back Yamato, or should he hold his ground? Dante had given Yamato to him, and Vergil was clearly violent, and dangerous, and Nero had no idea of his intentions and of his personality or of… anything about him, really. Being Dante’s brother didn’t automatically mean they were on the same side. Hell, for all Nero knew, this guy could be a living embodiment of the “Evil Twin” cliche. He wasn’t exactly acting in a way that disproved it.

On the other hand, Vergil inspired in Nero a strange feeling of… something. Maybe it was the familiarity of his face. He looked like he’d been through Hell, probably had. Pity. That was it. Nero felt pity. He was hungry and sickly looking and he wanted his sword back. Could have asked nicely, but maybe he didn’t know how to anymore.

On another, third hand, maybe that was true, but he was still an asshole, and he’d attacked Nero unprovoked.

_Fuck_ , what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just hand Yamato over, but he couldn’t _kill Dante’s brother!_

“Wait,” he said softly, not truly knowing what he was going to say next, because _he needed more time, damn it!_

Vergil roared, and charged at him. Nero, too busy deliberating, too busy absorbing even _more_ information, was not ready for it. Vergil collided into him.

“I’m taking Yamato back.” Where Nero’s was unsure, Vergil’s voice was resolute. No doubt, no questions. Nero almost envied him.

It took a few moments for the pain to register, red hot and sudden. Nero looked down at the dagger being buried in his shoulder, at the articulation, tearing at flesh and muscle. The pain was unspeakable, worse than any stab wound he’d ever had, and he briefly wondered if it was a property of the demonic blade, but then the thought flitted away like a moth. He lifted incredulous, watery eyes to Vergil, as if to say _Why did you stab me?_

“You can keep this.” was the answer to his silent question. The hand holding the dagger let go of it, and grabbed Yamato out of his. Nero didn’t have the strength to hold onto it, burning pain already travelling down in waves from his shoulder to his fingertips. He just… let go of it. “Consider it a trade, if you like.” The blade was still in his shoulder, and it hurt so damn much. Nero could feel his consciousness fading. He called out to his Trigger, but instead of the usual surge of energy, found only emptiness. He stumbled forward, into Vergil’s arms. Vergil pushed him back gently, and Nero hit the ground, not finding it in him to hold himself upright anymore. “You should get out of this city. You do not possess the strength to go on.”

On his back and through eyes rapidly losing the ability to focus, Nero looked at Vergil - and Yamato - walk away from his upside down. He extended his bringer to try and hold them back, but the attempt was pure desperation, and entirely futile. He was too weak, and the last of his willpower was leaking out of him like blood. His vision went black, and then he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: Vergil goes Feral
> 
> I'm so sorry Nero


	6. A Stray Child

Though he was still dying, Vergil had not felt this alive in years. Yamato was back in his hands and with her, the success of his task was assured. A weight had been taken off his shoulders. There was still much to accomplish, yes, but his purpose was clear and his resolve unbreakable. He would go upon that mountain, slaughter anything foolish enough to stand in his path, acquire the Lance, and finally, finally, cast out Mundus’ corruption, the poison that was corroding him from the inside out. He’d erase all traces of defeat off his life, wipe it clean until only his power remained.

But there were some… side effects to this renewed flow of emotions in him. Disgraceful side effects, like the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing, and the way he gripped his katana until his fingers were painful and stiff, like if he didn’t hold on strong enough, it would vanish like a dream in the morning sun. Only good dreams vanished, Vergil had learned. Nightmares, they had a way of clinging to you.

He’d collapsed when he’d been far enough for no one to hear him, or catch up with him, for example the poor fool he’d taken the Yamato from. He’d collapsed and hugged the sword to his chest, sobbing, howling.

His cheeks burned red hot with shame at the memory but it didn’t mean anything. It was just a strange effect from power flowing back into his dying body. It didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t crying. It was just… his body.

Surely it had nothing to do with the fact the last time he’d seen the Yamato, it had been broken, two halves that he could not save, and that could not save him either. He still remembered the awful, heart-rending sound the blade had made as Mundus snapped her in half, like glass and screeching metal and-

He made his way through the abandoned city, shoving the memory deep down, like so many before. He had no need of them, they would only weight him down. And he had no need of regret either, or guilt. He would forget the betrayal on Nero’s face in time. It was too late, anyway, and there had been no other options. He _needed_ the Yamato back, and the child wouldn’t give her to him.

_It belonged to his brother,_ he’d said. Rage bubbled up in him even now. He _was_ the brother, damn it! It belonged to _him_ , and Dante had just given it away to some stranger, some _child_ who probably had no idea of its power, of its meaning.

Okay, he had to give a modicum of credit to Dante. He hadn’t given it to any random child. Nero clearly was of Sparda’s bloodline. Vergil could feel it acutely, even before seeing his power in action. And since as far as he knew, they did not have a half-brother, and Nero was too young to have been born before their Father’s death, there was only one option left as to his parentage. Nero was Dante’s son, there was no doubt about that, and Vergil supposed it made sense he would give the Yamato to him, if he thought Vergil was gone forever, but _damn it_ , he wasn’t, and the katana wasn’t Dante’s to give away!

They had the same propensity for blundering around in the dark, going from one fight to another without so much as a plan or a general sense of what they were doing. For example, Vergil had watched Nero climb in a house, into what was clearly a fight above his capacity, miraculously get thrown out of the window, and then act like getting his ass handed to him had been part of his plan all along. Foolish. Vergil had saved his life, even if the child didn’t seem aware of it, so it was only fair he’d get something in return. A sword for a life. Vergil had even left him the dagger in exchange. He didn’t even use Yamato to her full potential, anyway, but Vergil would, and so he deserved her more. Needed her more. The Yamato was his, anyway, had always been his.

It had been a fair trade, more than fair.

So why did he feel so… strange about it? Because Nero was his nephew, out of a sense of familial duty he’d left behind so long ago?

_Except that isn’t true_ , he thought. _I couldn’t kill Dante on Mallet island, couldn’t kill my brother, I wouldn’t -_

He got a grip on his swirling thoughts. Nero wasn’t dead. He’d heal. He’d go back home and tattle on Vergil to his father and then Vergil would have to deal with having him on his trail but he supposed that was the price to pay for letting him live. He just had to be faster, accomplish his task here as soon as possible.

But there was something else at the edge of his mind, like a forgotten memory or a half-remembered dream, and it bothered him. Something to do with the Yamato and how she’d been restored to her former glory. He could almost picture it, and it scared him. He could not have this memory. It couldn’t exist, or it shouldn’t be his.

Yet there it was.

 

****

 

Vergil quickly became aware of something - or rather, someone- following him as he weaved his way through the town. Nero. The poor fool was trying to follow him, staying far off in the distance either because he thought Vergil wouldn’t detect his presence or because he couldn’t actually go faster. Vergil, who so far had been cutting every demon he encountered to pieces, enjoying the Yamato’s return to his grip, started leaving groups of them behind. That would slow him down, and hopefully convince him to go running home with his tail between his legs.

Another man would have turned around. Given up, or at least taken some time to think up another approach, to rest, to heal. Anything.

But not Nero. But was Nero any man? No. He was of Sparda’s blood, and that made him strong of will.

He was also Dante’s son, and that made him an idiot, just like his father. And just like Dante would have done, he was going through horde after horde of demons, and, judging from his grunts of pain in the distance, taking quite a beating for it. Imbecile.

Vergil went on. If Nero wanted to be a stubborn, dead idiot, that was his problem.  Vergil had someone else to keep alive: himself. Nero wasn’t his responsibility, nephew or not.

 

*******

 

Nero was slowing down, or he was getting more clever. His presence was fading to the very edges of Vergil’s senses. Either he was too weak to keep up, or he was faking it, trying to lull him into complacency, waiting for his moment to strike. Both options were a possibility, and while Nero didn’t strike Vergil as someone with a … ah… talent for strategy, the hypothesis could not be dismissed. Vergil was a survivor, and you survived by never underestimating a situation, and by considering  and preparing for different outcomes.

Vergil turned around and carefully retraced his steps. He couldn’t fight constantly looking over his shoulder. Well, no, he could, had done it many times before, and could do it again. He just… didn’t want to, not this time. He wanted to focus fully on his goal, probably the most important of his life, since his continued existence depended on it.

Yes, that was it. He was circling around and checking in on Nero’s progress because he was a potential threat. Not out of some misplaced sense of responsibility, or guilt, or anything foolish like that. Why would he worry about Nero? Why would he care at all? Nero wasn’t his to worry or care for. He had a father, presumably a mother, and a girlfriend with terrible taste in decor, all people who would probably mourn him should anything befall-

Nero would be fine. He was just playing at being wounded, like a bird luring a predator away from its nest. Or maybe that was a bad analogy. In reality, Nero was trying to be the predator, but Vergil would never be prey. Never again.

As he went back, Vergil had to fight some of the demons he’d left behind to slow down Nero’s progression. Either he hadn’t reached them yet, or he was purposefully avoiding them. Conserving strength or trying to throw Vergil off the trail.

He was growing impatient. This was wasting his time, precious time he needed every drop of. He needed to get to that mountain, and he needed to cleanse himself from the corruption before it claimed him completely.

Yet he found himself unable to turn around. He needed to know what had happened to Nero, a visceral need coming from somewhere deep down, not unlike the need that makes you peek over your covers as a child just to make sure the monster’s not actually coming out of your closet. Not that he’d ever done anything so childish.

(A memory of running to his brother’s bed and hiding under his covers after hearing a particularly worrying creak from the closet door came to mind, but Vergil pushed it away. The child he’d been was long gone, killed the same day his family had been ripped from him.)

Vergil had thought maybe Nero was trying a more circuitous path, but he soon pinpointed his presence on the exact same path he’d himself taken, exactly where he’d been first expecting him.

As he grew closer to it, the smell of blood permeated the air. Nero’s blood. Of course he’d recognize it, he’d so recently spilled it, after all, but no… It stirred in him a more distant memory, hazy, dreamlike.

After Dante had killed him on Mallet Island, Vergil had been unconscious for a long time, dreaming. But maybe they’d hadn’t been dreams, not all of them.

This one would only come back to him in short bursts, images and smells and impressions, and he had trouble gathering them all into a complete whole. Trying to hold on to them only scattered them, like scared fish in the water. It scared him, to have his own mind so out of control. This shouldn’t be.

A room Vergil wasn’t actually in, couldn’t actually be in, bathed in cold blue light.

Yamato, not yet whole again, but Awake, woken up from a deep sleep by a new and yet familiar presence.

A man Vergil didn’t know, threatening. Powerful demonic presences.

And there was blood, so much blood. Nero’s blood. They’d met before, Vergil was sure of it, maybe in another dream. A dream within a dream? Was such a thing even possible?

And Vergil. Not there, maybe not anywhere at all, his body almost entirely destroyed, floating somewhere as if in between realities. What was it that had pulled his soul in there, in this very room? Was it the Yamato, or was it the blood Nero and he shared? Had the Yamato, even broken, acted as a conduit, bridging the gap between two planes?

In the dream, Vergil reached out to a dying Nero. He offered him what he needed the most, and the only thing Vergil had ever desired: Power.

Yamato’s blade glowing a bright blue brought him back to reality, and to the scene that lay in front of him. In the past, the blade had only reacted to one entity’s proximity in such a way: himself. Never Dante, even though they technically shared the same blood. Dante could use the Yamato, yes, but their interaction was not the same at the flow of power between the katana and Vergil. The bond they had was unique.

But the presence it was reacting to at the moment was not Vergil’s, he knew. It was reacting to Nero. Why the blade would answer so differently to Dante and to his son was conundrum Vergil had no time to lose with solving for now. There was a group of demons in front of him, pathetic, wretched creatures that posed him no threat. They were standing in a circle, the ground around them damp  with blood and littered with pulverized demon. In the middle of the circle was Nero, weakly defending himself with that peculiar limb of his. His strength was fading. His demonic aura, which Vergil had found subtle from the start, in contrast to the power he actually displayed in combat, could barely be felt at all. He could have almost been a simple human. A _dying_ human. He was bleeding - a lot, judging by the quantity of blood around and on him - and torn and bruised and still fighting, despite how futile and desperate that fight.

He was not going to overcome.

_Aren’t you going to aid him?_ A voice inside of him said. And there were just as many reasons to not come to his defense as there were reasons to. If Nero perished here, there would be no one to tell on him to Dante, and Vergil could at least continue on his path without his interference.

But that did not feel right. It was one thing for Dante and him to feud, but he’d never let lowly demons such as these kill him. He’d go in there, dispatch them, and then berate his brother for getting himself in such a humiliating position.  Letting Nero perish here would be an insult to Sparda’s name and bloodline, and he could not allow that.

And Nero… Nero had somehow fixed the Yamato, or maybe he had? He couldn’t say.

But he and the Yamato had saved Nero’s life, in that room, and now he was just letting him die. All that effort, for nothing. Vergil wasn’t one to waste his time on useless undertakings.

There was another reason. An idea making its way through his mind, elusive and smoky at first, but now taking solid, stable form.

Maybe Nero wasn’t his nephew at all. Maybe he wasn’t Dante’s son, despite the superficial resemblances. Similarities in personality weren’t innate. Those were acquired.  The way the Yamato and Nero interacted, now, _that_ was something to read into. The Yamato _knew,_ and so Vergil did too. Nero was his son. That was _his_ child over there, getting torn apart, and it was his duty to protect him.

He drew Yamato and the blade shone brighter than Vergil had ever seen it shine. She wanted to help him too. _Let’s, then._

With a quick, precise slashes of the blade he released a series of rapid cuts. There was no risk of catching Nero in the attack; both he and the Yamato knew what they were doing.

The demons fell to pieces around Nero, and Vergil strode forward. He found it curious he had not Triggered. It had also taken Dante a long time, that was true, but he’d seen Nero’s Trigger, so it was not a question of him not having awoken it yet. Strange. Maybe he was completely out of power. This boded ill.

He crouched next to the now unconscious boy. _My son_ , he reminded himself.

“Are you here to finish me off?” said Nero, spitting blood as he spoke. His eyelids were fluttering open. Ah, not so unconscious after all. “‘Cause I won’t make it easy for you. I’m gonna-” he tried to sit up, clawing at the ground with his demonic arm, but only fell back down in the bloody dirt.

“Actually, I am here to help.” He answered, nonchalant.

With what seemed a non-null amount of effort, Nero turned to him, teary blue eyes full of disbelief and rage. “Why? You’re the one who stabbed me.” Ah, if only his physical form could be as fierce as the look he was giving Vergil. Then he wouldn’t need rescuing.

That was a question Vergil couldn’t - or wouldn’t - answer. He was barely coming to grips with the truth of it himself, he wasn’t ready.

“You need to Trigger, Nero, or you’re going to die.” He went straight to the crux. “You have lost a lot of blood,” he added, as if Nero couldn’t see and feel that himself.

Nero laughed, but there wasn’t a single hint of mirth in the sound.

“What do you care anyway. You don’t give a shit about me.” His tone was stubborn and bitter, a defense mechanism Vergil recognized well. How many times had he refused help out of fear of being betrayed? Better to expect nothing from anyone and to never be disappointed.

“Don’t I? I did not save you in that room only so I could let you die here.”

“So it was you.” Recognition flashed in the boy’s features, and his expression softened. “I had a feeling we’d met before. And I wanted… I wanted to trust you. Look where that got me.” he gestured weakly with his human arm. Vergil pretended not to see the tear rolling on his cheek.

He reined in his frustration. Now was not the time for this. He told Nero as much.

“We can talk about this later, if you’re still alive. And if you want to stay alive, then you need to Trigger. I know you know how. You did it earlier. Are you out of power?”

Nero hesitated, then gave in, resigned. “I need Yamato. I can’t Trigger without her.”

Vergil’s first instinct was mistrust. Was this an elaborate ruse to get Yamato back? “Why would you need Yamato to Devil Trigger? I don’t. Dante neither.”

Even dying, the child found a way to be abrasive.

“I don’t know why, okay, I just do? Just give it back, okay, it’s not like I can-”

Vergil took a step back and gripped the Yamato with both hands, like Nero was going to lunge at him for the blade.

“No.”

“Guess I’ll fucking die then.” He was trying to sound flippant but he was… not really succeeding. He was scared. The light was fading from his eyes and he was struggling to barely keep them open. “Please, I don’t want to die, please-”

Vergil’s throat was tight, almost as tight as his grip on the Yamato. “Then don’t. You don’t need the Yamato, Nero, it’s a crutch. You just need to focus. Nero, are you even listening-” Nero had closed his eyes, and his breathing had become erratic, irregular. “Nero!” he kneeled next to him, trying to staunch the panic rapidly filling his own lungs with lead. “Nero!” His hand went to his neck, searching for his pulse. It was weak, and fading. Keeping as steady as he could, Vergil pulled Nero to him, resting his head on his knees, maybe not as gently as he could have, had he been calmer. He needed to take a deep breath. He could not allow himself to panic. Nero was already doing that, in shock from the numerous wounds and the blood loss. “Nero, wake up! You need to trigger, or you’ll die.”

“I can’t,” he cried, out of breath. “Please, I don’t want to die. Yamato… I need Yamato.”

“Here.” Vergil slipped the blade between Nero’s fingers, keeping his own grip on it firm. “Here, you have her. Now, Nero, you must trigger. If you want to live, you must.”

For a moment there was nothing, and Vergil thought he had been too late. _I have failed. I have a son, and I’ve failed to save him. I killed-_

Power burst forth from the Yamato, and beneath his fingers Vergil could feel it spreading to Nero. His eyes flew open, crimson and glowing, and blue light enveloped his form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Vergil was fun, hope you enjoyed reading it too! :)


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